


the cover doesn't make the book

by eliestarr



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:59:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliestarr/pseuds/eliestarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are outsiders, they are different, but in those quiet moments where they find themselves alone, they are together, special. He makes her feel like she doesn’t have to hide, like there’s not a single blemish beneath her skin that he can’t make beautiful. She makes him feel calm, whole, grounded. And no matter what she thinks, he’s going to make her remember that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the cover doesn't make the book

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 2012 tumblr valentine's day exchange at yj-exchanges

She has been dreaming about Earth for such a long, long time.

What she wouldn’t give to be like J’onn J’onzz—The Martian Manhunter—living amongst them, interacting and even fighting crime alongside their _heroes_. Like Batman and Wonder Woman and _Superman_. If they can do it, why can’t she?

But she knows the answer to that—she wouldn’t fit in. She’s not as brave, or as smart, or as strong as they are. She wants it with all her heart, and wishes for it every night, watching the stars and longing for the one that blinks for Earth. But there’s just one problem—she doesn’t look the part.

She hates to admit it, catching her reflection in a shimmering window, but there is quite the fair difference between _white_ and _green_ and she wishes, often, that she could change it. She does not regret who she is, but things would be far simpler if she could look like him. If changing her appearance could be as easy as snapping her fingers—

\--and then it _is_. The white falls away like a wave lapping over the sands on an Earth beach. One moment it is there, and the next, her red hair and freckles are vibrant and alive against smooth green skin. She’s wearing an outfit that mimics his, and her lips are split in a grin, and for a moment, she thinks this could work. She wonders what she would call herself on Earth—both as a civilian and fighting crime alongside J’onn J’onzz.

And then she hears the Martian Manhunter is returning home for a visit.

* * *

He knows how he should feel about his new _friends_ —the word feels rough and strange in his thoughts and on his tongue. He knows what he has been told and taught by those _things_ at Cadmus. He knows that this isn’t how everything was supposed to play out for him, but somehow, he’s okay with that. In fact, he likes this better.

Because those friends? He kind of likes them. Kaldur is kind and patient and listens to him. Robin is witty and has a way with words that for better or worse he is catching on to. And Wally is full of energy and terrible jokes and wants to show him all the cool things he has missed, living in a tube.

But sometimes, when he’s alone with his thoughts at the cave, he thinks of how he doesn’t fit in. He’s not like them—not human, not from Earth. He’s made from the DNA of Superman, a man from another planet, a man who wants nothing to do with him. He sees the way members of the League look at him, like he’ll suddenly snap and turn on them. He knows this, because he’s thought it. Worried that there are things implanted in his head that he can’t avoid and that one day, a switch will get flicked and he’ll be _gone_. And he’s angry about it.

In fact, he’s angry a lot of the time. He can’t help it. They’re being treated like children and that’s exactly what they were trying to _disprove_. He doesn’t belong. He’s alone. Many things swirl around in his head and make him grit his teeth and cause his fists to clench. He wants to talk to his friends about it, but they’re younger, or immature, and they’re used to being part of something. He needs an outsider, like him.

And then he hears they’re getting a new teammate.

* * *

Earth is everything she’s ever dreamed of and more. It’s bright and shiny and just a little bit tarnished, but it’s working hard to scrub those stains away. The _heroes_ she has envied are working to fix it and they are just as she imagined. Batman is quiet and serious, Wonder Woman gentle and strong, and Superman—Superman has a brilliant smile and welcomes her with a warm handshake.

But her chest hurts, during all this, because J’onn has already told her she isn’t staying. At least, not with them. She is too young, too inexperienced, too _new_ to all this. No, the Justice League will not be her place, and there’s that aching fear in her heart telling her she won’t fit in with these _teenage_ heroes they have told her about. A group of young boys trying to prove their worth, like her.

She feels so nervous that her fingers shake and she nearly loses her hold on her appearance altogether as J’onn leads her into Mount Justice—her new home. He introduces her as his niece—something they’d settled on when he agreed to bring her here—and the boys buy it. There’s a redhead like her, Kid Flash, who’s goofy, and makes her smile. The shorter boy, Robin, talks too fast, but seems incredibly smart. And the taller one, Aqualad, is quiet, but very sweet.

It isn’t until she sees _him_ that her nerves skyrocket. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and bright eyes. He doesn’t smile like the others, but just observes her, and she can tell even without the “S” on his shirt that he’s related to Superman. He’s _attractive,_ for an Earth boy.Only, he isn’t, is he? No, if he’s like Superman, then he’s from somewhere else, somewhere far away, like her. He must be. She stutters just slightly when she mimics his shirt and introduces herself as _Miss Martian_ , but the smile he gives her in return is worth it. It tickles at her insides and turns her cheeks pink, and she thinks that maybe—maybe this won’t be so bad.

* * *

He doesn’t expect to ever take the time to get to know her, but he does.  It’s certainly easy when they’re the only ones in permanent residence at the cave. They are each other’s only company, and he finds, after a time, that this isn’t such a bad thing. He thinks, at first, that he should be wary of her—of her ability to read his thoughts. Those things at Cadmus played awful tricks on him, and he won’t let it happen again.

But she’s just so sweet and kind and _caring_ , and it’s so different for him that he finds himself _willingly_ spending time with her, just to get a taste of the happiness she exudes. Just to listen to her hum and flit about the kitchen while he sits before the NO SIGNAL TV. Just to enjoy all the stories she has of Mars and her family and things are different, here on Earth. It reminds him, often, that he is not alone. That he is no longer the only outsider--the only one who isn’t from here.

It’s comforting, and it’s _calming_ , because he’s so busy being angry at everything _all the time_ that she just...she makes it go away. He isn’t sure why, but even after she manages to spill eggs and milk and butter and just about everything in the fridge on him, all he can do is _smile_ like there’s nothing wrong and stare down at her.

And it’s only after the incident in Bialya that he notices things are changing. That somehow, he has spent so much time getting to know her and living with her and noticing the way her cheeks flush when he stands too close--he has grown attached. He isn’t quite sure how to deal with it, or even acknowledge it, so he stays close on missions, defends her with ease, looks out for her when they start school and try to blend in.

_School_ —he hates it. There’s nothing it can teach him that he doesn’t already know, but somehow, she loves it. It is everything she’s dreamed of being included in—the simplest of Earth customs she has wished to be a part of. He wants to see her laugh and smile like she does, so he pretends to be okay with it. Most days, he just wants to punch anyone who talks to him in the face, but some days—days where he stays after school to sit in the stands and watch her practice cheer-leading—he thinks he can get by.

* * *

She knew being on Earth would bring her happiness. The friends she has made—both on the Team and at school—they’re wonderful. Artemis allows them the sisterly moments she has dreamed of, as she braids the blonde’s hair and listens to fairy tales. The girls from the cheerleading squad—Wendy and Karen—teach her all the _typical_ things a teenage girl should be doing.

What she did not expect, however, was Superboy—or Conner, as he prefers to be called. The Earth name suits him, and he feels that with it, he fits in just a bit more. It’s something important to them—fitting in. But, at the same time, they know that regardless of whether or not they do, they have each other.

She isn’t sure exactly when it happened—whether it was her reaching out to him in Bialya, or all those times alone at the cave with no one else for company but one another—but something is different between them. She sees and _hears_ the way he watches her, and her fingertips tingle when she catches his eye. Her cheeks heat whenever he’s near, and when Wally flirts with her over freshly baked cookies, she knows the small smiles Conner wears in the background are for her and her alone.

She is quite sure she has been in love with him since that day after she joined the Team, when he offered to help move in her things and after she _stupidly_ asked him about Superman, told her how he didn’t belong—how he wasn’t really a sidekick, just a clone, an outsider. _Just like her._ It made her smile and her spirits lifted and she thought about those silly Earth clichés of love at first sight and wondered if that’s why her heart at hurt so much then.

She spends weeks fearing that he doesn’t feel the same. She has, after all, promised to remain out of his private thoughts, and although she’s quite sure she can read him better than anyone else on the Team, she is just _so scared_. Because what if he doesn’t, and what if she’s imagined it and what if she wants so desperately to have that something special with him that she’s thought it all up in her head. There are a thousand what ifs that she worries about on those late nights where she can’t sleep and she meditates on the highest peak of Mount Justice.

But every single one of those doubts wash away during their trip to Belle Reve, because it’s Conner that freaks out when Killer Frost attacks her. Conner that stands outside the ice and prays for her to come back to him. Conner that is _so_ happy to have her back in his arms that he doesn’t even think about it when he crashes his lips to hers and entangles his fingers in her hair and breathes in every inch of her like she’s the only thing that matters to him.

And she is.

* * *

He doesn’t know if this is what love is supposed to feel like. The way his head spins when she’s so close he can smell the flower-scented shampoo she uses. The way his eyes can’t stay off her when she’s in the room. The way his chest swells with anger whenever he sees Wally hit on her. Or, even, the way he longs for those drawn out moments, alone at the cave, when they’re working on his bike, or lounging with Wolf, when he can twine their fingers together and smile in a way that tells her he’s happy and that he cares about her, even though he’s so terrible with words.

This is all so very different and not what he expected, all those months ago when she first timidly introduced herself. They haven’t even told the others—but he knows by the way Aqualad and Robin watch them and talk that they’ve figured out what’s going on. It’s hard not to, because he finds it so damn hard to resist every urge to take her hand or kiss her or run his fingers through her hair. He hates it—this basic human emotion that’s driven deep and caused him to do irrational things, like sacrifice himself in a simulation just to give her a chance to survive. But he finds it hard to care.

Because she _understands_ , that is the single most important thing to him. Not how pretty she is or how her laugh is one of his favorite sounds or how soft her skin is beneath his fingers—just how she sits and listens and gets how he feels about their place on the Team, about what they’re doing and most of all—about Superman.

And he returns the favor, one night upon the highest peak of Mount Justice, when she just needs to sit and de-stress and tell him—the sole person she trusts the most in this world—the one thing she’s been keeping from all of them. Who she really is.

* * *

“I can’t.” She bites her lip and looks away from him; her fingers twisted together, her stomach knotted. She is more nervous than she has ever been—more than when she snuck aboard J’onn’s Bioship, or joined the Team, or started school, or told him she loved him.

Because this? This is who she is, underneath all the cheer and the powers and the _green_. And she hasn’t shared it with _anyone_ before—just those on Mars, who she left behind. There is an ache in her chest and a voice in her head bringing about all those what ifs and maybes she has avoided for several happy months.

She feels the heat of him as he approaches and snakes his arms around her, and holds her close. He whispers in her ear that she’ll be alright, that this’ll change nothing, and that he’ll still love her. She has tears in her arms and she nearly chokes out a “no” before she reasons that if she can’t even show _him_ , then how will she ever go about telling her friends?

So she untangles herself and steps away and focuses solely on those baby blues of his as she dissolves, as the green falls away to reveal ghostly white, and her eyes start to glow with a haunting shade of red. She winces as he steps close and his hand coolly touches her cheek.

“This is it?” he asks, and the corners of his mouth curve up just slightly. “You’re a different color?” He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world—like she hasn’t told him five million times that on her planet, this means _everything_. “M’gann, that doesn’t matter to me—I’m not from Mars. And even if I were, this wouldn’t change—”

“It’s not all,” she says, and hates the way it comes out practically a sob. Her fingers are shaking and her eyes are beginning to water, and she hates herself for opening her mouth. Because he was ready to believe this was the only thing wrong with her—that she’s the same M’gann he’s known for almost a year, just in a different shade, a different skin. But she’s not, because her—the _real_ her—is far more complex than that.

“Show me,” he whispers, tracing her cheek with his thumb and tucking hair behind her ears. “If you can.”

Can and want are two very different things, she thinks. But she still steps back and closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before willing it all away. Before banishing the beauty and shape she has worked so hard to create—the appearance she wishes were her own.

She hears the gasp escape his lips, feels his heart rate spike, and knows in one chilling moment that this is it. This is the end of the one solid, _most perfect_ thing she could’ve hoped to have on Earth. Any moment, a dreaded stream of synonyms will escape his throat, the same ones she spits at the reflection in the mirror in the cold, dark, emptiness of her room at the cave. _Frightening, ugly, hideous_. She expects them all, and yet, somehow—

\--the word _magnificent_ reaches her ears instead.

It’s enough to force her eyes open—those startlingly _red_ eyes—and look at him. His pupils are dilated in shock, his stance is hesitant and tense but somehow— _somehow—_ there’s a smile on his lips. “W-What did you call me?” She hates the way her voice cracks and trembles.

“I said—you’re magnificent,” his grin expands as he steps closer and she, instead, tries to back away. But he grabs her hand and laces his fingers with her long ones and his eyes take her all in at once.

“Why w-would you say that?” She looks down at him despite her better judgement—because in this form, she’s taller than he is—and sees only wonder reflecting back at her.

“Because you are,” he tells her, reaching up to run his thumb over her cheek the way he’d done moments ago when she’d looked something closer to human. “M’gann, it doesn’t matter what skin or color or _shape_ you’re in—I still love you for _you_. For what’s in here—” he points to her heart and grins, looking up. _And in here_ , his thoughts echo in her head. “That’s what makes you who you are, not where you’ve come from or who you’re supposed to be—but what you _choose_.”

And she realizes, as her breath hitches in her throat because he’s _so close_ , that those are the same words she told him, so very long ago, when he told her about Superman and Cadmus and the things he was created to do. And her chest hurts and her eyes sting with tears and suddenly she’s shrinking until she’s small enough to fit in his arms again, a perfect fit.

She’s sobbing out apologies she doesn’t need to be, and thanking him for saying that to her, and he lifts her chin and smiles brilliantly—all teeth and heart—and tells her he means every word. _Every. Word._

“And I love you, no matter who you choose to be,” he breathes, before his lips capture hers and for not the first time she feels like she really is something special—she’s _his_.


End file.
